Color Her Red Read Free Page A

knows that all too well.  I settle on the truth.
    “Just to grab another bottle,” I manage a small pathetic curl to my lips as I respond and grab the empty glass from the table. 
    Yes, I think I will need the bottle. 
    It’s hard looking at her in the eyes.  My gaze drops and my eyes glaze over as I head towards her kitchen.  I see her rest back into the corner of the couch and let out a sigh.  I am relieved that she doesn’t feel the need to follow me.  She hasn’t left me alone all night.  I’m grateful to have a friend like Kate.  It makes me feel selfish though, that she hurts so much for me.  There is nothing I can do to ease the pain for her.  It’s obvious that I am nowhere close to being okay.  At least the wine is helping.
    “He’s a fool Emma,” she breaths rather than speaks her conclusion.  I stop midway to the kitchen and her hard wood floors creak in response to my weighted halt.  I’m momentarily immobilized by her words.  I don’t want to succumb to reality.  I grip the stem of the glass tighter, close my eyes to prevent the burning, and breathe deep.  My eyes fill but I hold back for a moment and then continue to move as I release my breath and let the tears fall carelessly down my cheeks to my chin.   I continue to the kitchen without acknowledging her or the hot unwelcomed tears.  I just keep my head down.  Why do I keep crying?   Because your life is falling to pieces all around you, and there is nothing you can do about it. 
    It’s the last bottle of red, but it should be all I need.  I already feel light-headed and fuzzy.  I haven’t had this much to drink since our first night as an official couple, ordained by gossip magazines.  We were so careless and it felt so good.  I still remember every amazing detail.  The way he touched me.  The way his lips tasted of sweet wine. I relieve myself of that thought immediately, shaking my head angrily.  I don’t want to think about being with him.  No looking back on the past any more tonight.  I need to concentrate on my immediate future, an affair with a bottle of Merlot.  It’s no Cabernet Sauvignon, not smooth and sweet, but it will get the job done. 
    I wonder if that was what he thought: she would get the job done.  No! Stop it!  No thinking, just drink!  Stop doing this to yourself!   I breathe in and harshly streak the tears away from my face with the back of my hand. 
    I pour a glass and greedily drink all of it, tilting my head back to secure the last drop.  All I can taste is bitterness.  The glass slams down on the granite with all of my weight ; I stumble back a bit shocked.  I don’t know if that was the result of my drunkenness or the anger that is craving to escape.  It takes me a moment to realize that it isn’t broken, and relieved, I carefully pour another.  I take a small sip and stand there for a moment.  I feel the warmth run down my throat and settle in my chest.  I sway a little.  I need to sit down ASAP.  I consider resting on the cold hard kitchen floor, but I decide that I should confide in the warmth of the sofa and Kate’s comfort.
    I saunter back to the living room, the bottle of bitter Merlot in my left hand and the almost-filled glass in my right.  Kate is no longer cocoone d in the blanket.  Instead she’s on the edge of the sofa leaning into the laptop on the coffee table.  Not this again.
    I was happily unaware.  I wish I could just go back to not knowing. 
    Do you?
    I decide not to answer that question.  I don’t want to think about it.  I haven’t looked at the screen all night.  I don’t want to see it again; once was enough.  The images are burned into my mind.  Just thinking about it is torture; there they are, staring back at me, haunting me.  Kate looks for something in the pictures, a detail to reveal the truth maybe.  But there is nothing there but undeniable evidence, and I can’t stand to look at them.
    The soothing blue walls are no